


spidey-bells

by gothbats



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence, Christmas Fluff, Gen, Humor, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Spider-Man Interacting with New Yorkers, exasperated pepper potts, peter helps deliver a baby, peter parker deserves a hug, peter parker has a big heart, tony stark is a little shit, yes he gets tangled in christmas lights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28305630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothbats/pseuds/gothbats
Summary: “Don’t forget your jacket!” May calls from the living room, stopping him in his tracks. He blanches, already crawling halfway out the window to the fire escape. “You can’t spread Christmas cheer if you’re frozen mid-air.”“May,” Peter squeaks, “Spider-Man doesn’t wear jackets.”He will not admit to her face right now that his heart is fuzzy and warm right now from her protectiveness, because that means she won. Instead, “Hmph.”--or, spider-man swings around new york on christmas eve to spread christmas cheer, accidentally help deliver a baby, web up criminals, quips all the time, and crawl up the walls.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 89





	spidey-bells

**Author's Note:**

> listen i spent today crying so enjoy this little piece i wrote to help myself cheer up. happy holidays, i hope you're all doing well. inspired by spidey-bells (a hero's lament).

“Don’t forget your jacket!” May calls from the living room, stopping him in his tracks. He blanches, already crawling halfway out the window to the fire escape. “You can’t spread Christmas cheer if you’re frozen mid-air.”

“ _May_ ,” Peter squeaks, “Spider-Man doesn’t wear jackets.”

“Oh, he absolutely does!” she calls, swinging the door open, holding his most embarrassing and puffiest jacket in his arm. “You crazy, bub? It’s snowing!”

He will not admit to her face right now that his heart is fuzzy and warm right now from her protectiveness, because that means she won. Instead, “ _Hmph.”_

He crawls back in through the window, not missing the disgust plastered across his aunt’s face, twisting to confusion once he’s upside down on the ceiling before he drops down. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how creepy you look— oh, you know who you look like? Stitch.”

“Please don’t tell me you mean the six-armed experiment 626,” he screeches, snatching the coat from her hand and retreating to the window.

“Ah, ah, ah!” she scolds, “Don’t you think you can sneak out before I see that zipper all the way up.”

“Okay, May, I love you,” he starts, putting his arms through the puffy coat and expanding instantly like a marshmallow, “but this is getting dangerously close to Tony-overprotective-territory, as in ‘I will wrap you in bubble wrap if you walk away from me’ type.”

“Hmm,” she hums, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently. He knows what this means, but he’s almost in college. Spider-Man shouldn’t be coddled and babied by his two favorite adults!

“Okay, I can wear this coat, _IF,_ ” he begins, opening the window once more and letting the flurries and wish rush into the apartment, “I can stay out extra late. Promise I’ll be here before Santa, though.”

“I’ll consider it,” May murmurs, wrapping herself in her sweater. “It does give me time to watch Christmas Lifetime movies without you picking out the plot-holes.”

“I mean, come on, they always introduce an antagonist ¾’s through the movies,” he criticizes, crouched in the window sill. He takes a deep breath in, facing the city he’s desperate to leap to.

“Come here, give me a kiss before I change my mind,” she says, opening her arms and walking towards the window. 

May hugs simmer away the anxiety bubbling inside of him, a reminder of what the city of New York deserves. They might not get the same love he gets at home, so he’s ready to spread some cheer tonight. It’s his own little tradition.

He presses a kiss to her cheek, “I’ll have hot chocolate waiting. I larb you.”

“I larb you more!” Peter yells back, twisting off the fire escape and swirling in the air, whooping in the middle of the snow flurries. Before May can drag him back inside for the little stunt he just pulled, he aims a web upwards and yanks, catapulting into the air.

  
  
  


He’s out at sundown, and web-slings until his muscles burn. He covers his neighborhood in Queens, carrying a red velvet sack of presents that he begged Tony for to fill it up with presents. He passes by apartment complexes, waving and greeting little kids on their fire escapes and balconies, asking, “Are you Santa Claus?”

Spider-Man is the modern day Jewish Santa Claus.

His first stop is a rebuilt Delmar’s, which he helped decorate with twinkly lights a couple of weeks ago after seeing Mr. and Mrs. Delmar arguing outside, with Murph tangled in an abundance of lights. 

He maps his way to the deli shop, adjusting the bag of presents on his back and thrusting forward in the air, slinging off of rooftops.

The street Delmar’s lies on is full of his classmates and New Yorkers he bumps into as Spidey and Peter, who are all dropping off Empanadas, Latkes, and champagne for New Years to each other. It’s heartwarming, really, all of them mixing random Holidays together in a craze. “Hey! It’s Spidey!’

His head whips in the direction of the voice, _that voice_ , and he’s sure he’ll ask him to do another flip for everyone to see. “Hello, residents of Queens!”

The brown man with a high pitched voice throws his arms up in anticipation and excitement, “You’re Santa!”

“I’m not!” he yells, thwipping to the nearest rooftop and nearly slips on the wet ledges, waving down to everyone on the block. “But I’ll tell you what, I am here to spread some holiday cheer.”

“Oh, yeah? Prove it,” a head with short, wavy hair yells, bouncing on the balls of his feet while he anticipates his next moves. He shrugs the totally-not-Santa bag off his shoulders, and he stretches his arms over his head, cocking his hip out and hearing every bone crack. Ouch. He needs to do 7AM yoga with May more often.

“Watch this!” He steps a couple feet back, sprinting to the edge of the building and feeling weightless as he jumps off, hearing the gasps and murmurs and cheers below him, wondering what he’s going to do. He aims webs to the tallest corner of the building in front of them, suspending in air and lying supine to call back down.

The crowd erupts into cheers at his trick, his heart pounding in his chest during his free fall. A few feet before he crashes horrifically into the ground, he raises his legs and aims a web, acting as a pendulum in the middle of the snowy street. Goofy laughter fills his chest, and Mr. Delmar waves him off and says with certainty, “One day you’re going to splat to the ground.”

A group of children nearby screech in excitement, the smiles on their faces wide with their rosy cheeks and the gaps between their teeth. “Hey! You kids want presents?”

“NO WAY!” a little girl screeches, piercing his ears and the other little kids follow suit. He web slings back to the building with the presents, dragging it in the air behind him and he flips off the rooftop. 

“Come choose, but only one,” he says after landing on the wet pavement with a small _oof_. His jacket definitely makes a difference in his web-swinging, but he focuses on the sounds of taxis, someone coughing up a latke, and the smell of fresh snow distracts him. The little kids come running, and he allows them to take one present each before he drops the rest off at the nearby homeless shelter.

“Do you celebrate Christmas?” a little kid asks, head full of curly red hair and pale, cold face littered with freckles. “I don’t.”

“I don’t either, bud,” he says, side-eyeing the kids who scatter with their new presents in amazement. They show their parents their new toys. “I’m Jewish, but I know today is a hard night for people, and I wanted to do something to help.”

I want to be like you when I grow up,” he says with a toothy grin, running up with his arms wide, ready to plummet into Spider-Man. He nearly falls over with the hug, but gladly accepts it. 

Peter slides his mask up just above his mouth to show off his smile, and focuses his hearing on a nearby distraught cry from a woman. He flashes his pearly-whites anyways, gathering the kids up once again. “Listen, I want you all to do _three_ nice things for someone tonight, okay? You think you can help Spidey spread some cheer?”

“Yeah!” the kids scream in unison, their parents behind them grinning with hope, and with that, he’s able to leave them all in good hands. 

“I’ve got a Spidey call, but happy holidays!”

  
  
  


He debates his role in New York tonight. Seeing those bright smiles on everyone’s faces makes it worth it, and he thinks about it as he prepares for whatever comes next.

If Peter had blanked in utter confusion and disgust before when May told him stories of her preceptorship in nursing in labor and delivery, well, he didn’t have time to dwell on it now.

He thwipped through Midtown, searching for the cries in the muddled sound of snow falling and cars honking on the holiday’s eve. It was close, wherever the emergency was, and he could hear a woman reprimanding another person in between heavy-breathing and pants. Oh?

He finds a cab in the middle of an alleyway, a small crowd forming and four people talking on their cellphones. “Uh, hello? What’s happening?”

Nobody seems to pay mind to their favorite superhero, but he hears a cry from the back of the taxi-cab and the driver marching around the front, yelling at them to go somewhere else. “Hey! It’s the miracle of life!”

That seems to have come from the husband, dressed in a gray sweater, sleep pants with reindeer and snowflakes on them, and slippers that are drenched in brown water. “MIracle of life, go do it somewhere else!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Spidey yells, dropping from the ledge of the building and onto the ground behind the taxi. He lands with his leg out, his favorite signature move. “How can I help?”

“ _OH_ ,” the gasping pregnant woman yells, “it’s coming! I can feel it.”

“Oh! Okay, ma’am, you’re going to be just fine,” Peter screeches, probably just as loudly as the woman and tosses the bag of toys to the side, her husband screaming that he sees a head. When he hears immediate silence from the man behind him and his heart slowly pounding, he turns back to see his dazed face, about to faint. “Whoa! Sir, sit down.”

“The nearest hospital is ten blocks away,” he yells over the pregnant mom's gasps, “but I can swing around and ask for a doctor.”

“Push, push, push,” a man yells from the side, and Peter gives him the most dubious and judgemental look he can muster. “What? She’s crowning.”

“Spidey! _You_ have to deliver the baby,” a teenager behind him yells, a seemingly college-aged student. She’s munching on a bag of doritos, letting the snow fall over her snack. “I would, but I don’t have freaky powers like you.”

“ _But I’m 17_ ,” Peter gasps, sliding his cellphone out of his pocket in his suit and calling May. While the phone dials, he yells and asks around for a blanket. “I can’t deliver a baby, oh, G-d.”

“You can do it, Spidey,” the teen says, walking over and offering him a grin. She squeezes his shoulders, wincing and dusting off the dorito dust. “Push, ma’am, but breathe in, 1, 2, 3.”

“Hello?” May asks through the phone, voice laced with concern and skepticism, the small crowd formed around them cheering once they hear May’s voice. _“Is that woman dying or in labor?_ ”

“Oh, G-d, May, can you help me deliver a baby?” Peter asks, “And where’s the blanket I asked for?!”

He knows May will not appreciate calling her at 9PM during her Lifetime movies to deliver a baby then cut her off on the phone, but she will understand. Probably have him grounded. “I, uh, kinda have to deliver a baby?”

“ _Peter,”_ she scolds, and Peter yelps and reaches for his phone to take it off the speakerphone. He definitely does not need the entire city knowing his name. “What in the hell do you mean deliver a baby?”

“I’m putting you on speaker, random nurse I know from the hospital,” he raises his voice two octaves, making sure everyone around him can hear as well past the woman in labor. Her screeches sound like her insides are being ripped to shreds, and she angrily grips onto her husband. “Okay, nurse, what do I do?”

“Well, _Spider-Man_ ,” she says unhappily, “did you call 911?”

His eyes widen, the crowd murmuring around him in shock. “ _DID WE CALL 911?!”_

“Please! My baby is _COMING OUT NOW_ ,” the woman growls, grabbing Peter by the suit's neck and he definitely hears May chuckle on the phone. “Get it OUT!”

“ _Okay, okay, okay,_ ” he pants, voice three-too-many octaves high. “Where are the paramedics?”

“These contractions are too close in time,” the husband offers uselessly, his sweater covering his face. “Come on, Aki, just push the baby out!”

“Alright, alright,” Peter says, the teeanger coming back with a blanket and he twists his head away to give the woman privacy. “Is the baby right there?”

“Spider-Man, tell her to take a 10 second break in between each push,” May says over the phone, the crowd nodding in agreement. “And tell the husband to tell me how many centimeters the woman is dilated.”

He doesn’t hear a response from the woman anymore, and peeks over to see her tomato-red and straining the push. “You can do it, Spidey!”

He glares back at the unhelpful husband who just ignored May’s request, and their heads all at the sound of an ambulance around the corner, so it turns out they _did_ call the paramedics. He keeps his hands directly under her with the blanket, and he screams as loud as the mom and the baby when he feels the baby being pushed out onto the blanket.

 _“No, no, no,”_ he yells, but the baby healthily cries and the paramedics reach the car. He doesn’t dare turn his head to give the woman privacy, but soon enough the husband is delivering his wife’s baby in the back of some dirty taxi-cab, requesting Spidey to hold his newborn.

“Whoa! We late?” the unhelpful paramedic asks, “Make some room, people! Oh, hey, Spider-Man!”

“Spidey, I’m so proud of you!” May squeals over the phone, “ _Now whatever you do, do not drop the baby.”_

 _“May, shh!_ ”

After the man places the baby in his arms, he shakes his head violently, “Give the baby to Aki!” He’s handing the baby to the woman, who looks surprisingly energetic and content after giving birth, he’s stepping back and feeling dizzy and like his head’s in the clouds, while the woman is being hoisted up into the gurney. “Thank you, Spider-Man.”

Her voice is full of tears, emotion, and happiness, and _oh, shit, he just helped deliver a baby._

“It’s a girl!” Aki yells, the snow falling around the umbrella the paramedics carry above her. He stands beside her, squeezing her hand and watches the EMT push her to the ambulance. 

He picks up his phone, “May, I--”

“Oh, Pete, just go find Tony and have your adrenaline crash there,” she sighs, but he hears the smile in her voice. “I’m so proud of you. I’m sure they were really scared, and you did the right thing calling me. That was a big responsibility, helping them out there.”

His heart does the warm and fuzzies again, his heart thumping wildly in his chest and receiving pats on the back from the teenager, Aki’s husband, and shakes his head. “Love you, May. Thanks for helping. Luckily, I didn’t see anything, but I think I’m going to place Christmas music on speaker right next to my ears.”

“You do that, honey,” May sympathizes, “It’s the miracle of life!”

“I’m fine helping from afar,” he says, picking up the snow-covered red bag and aiming to the left of the block to find the homeless shelter after taking this detour. “These things change a man, May. This is uncharted territory for me, I don’t think I can make eye contact with anyone for at least three weeks.”

“Oh, stop the drama, you’re worse than _Alejandro_ \--”

“No, don’t start about the Lifetime drama movies, please, if you love me,” he cuts her off, hearing her villainous laugh on the other end of the line. “Especially not Alejandro.”

“Yes, as dramatic as Alejandro.” She thinks for a moment. “You know, I’ll go call Tony up now. I’m sure he’ll love to hear this anecdote, you know, tell the entire story in case you forget any details.”

“I won’t bring you back any cake, May,” he threatens, “I will pack my bags. I will do it, Pepper would love to have an extra mouth to feed besides Morgan and another load of laundry to do. They can have custody during the week, and you can have custody on the weekends.”

“Oh, ha-ha,” her voice drips with sarcasm, “At least I’ll have a clean bathroom from now on.”

“I’ll do it. I’m sure he has adoption papers somewhere,” he says, watching the snow let-up tonight. “Ah. May. I can’t believe that happened. I really do love you, okay? I think I would’ve fainted without your help.”

“It’s what I’m here for, babe,” she says, the static of the TV flicking back to her movie in the background. “Call me if you need anything, kay? Just-- not that again. Try not to deliver anymore babies.”

“I’ll try my best. Maybe I’m a baby magnet.”

“I’m telling Tony you called yourself that.”

“Sto--”

“Baby magnet. Not babe magnet, but baby magnet.”

  
  
  
  


“Hey!” He attempts to sound as menacing as he can muster up, deepening his voice to yell at teenagers who look older than him. “It’s unsafe to be out here, especially under the influence.”

One of the teenagers turns to him, their face yelling they’re looking at a ghost right now. The thing is, he must be a weird-looking ghost. Or, maybe their drunk mind doesn’t see a ghost, and they see a gigantic spider. He widens his eyes, laughing when the teenager gasps in fear.

He definitely has the _it_ factor.

“Are you a spider-cop?” a teenager pipes in from the back, his afro sticking with snow and he looks like he’s going to fall off the face of the earth. “Are you a _spider_?”

He wishes the quiver in his voice didn’t bother him, but he is hanging upside down from a tree in Central Park in the middle of the night. He thinks for a moment, calculating his next move. If he admits he’s also their age, they’d call him a snitch and a loser. If he lies and says he’s older, they’d still call him a snitch and a loser. 

He really doesn’t expect this to work. “ _Boo_.”

The teenagers scatter, falling while they scramble and stumble, yelling that the creepy spider is gonna eat them and rip their skin apart. Okay, maybe that’s one of the teenagers, but they all run and follow each other’s footsteps.

It isn’t his proudest moment, but he watches the teenagers flag down a taxi cab and yell off some number for an apartment complex in Midtown. He thinks it’s a job well done.

  
  
  
  


After dropping off the bag of presents at the shelter near Central Park, he has Tony texting him a message a second, but he nearly slips and thuds into a brick wall trying to text and swing.

“Acskjh!” he yells, rounding the corner and jumping to the nearest street lamp on the busy street in Manhattan. He isn’t too far from shops and ESU, and takes the time to read all 84 texts from Tony.

 _“HAHAHAH_ ,” one reads, he groans and continues scrolling down the list. He stuffs half his face into his zipped up jacket, admitting it is cozy and what he needed after ruining his heating unit in the suit. “ _Baby magnet!_ ”

He wonders to himself everyday if his mentor in the Avengers league is a fifteen year old frat boy in disguise, sighing to himself. His senses begin to buzz, he frowns and turns his head to look down the street. 

Peter shrugs, opting to text back Iron Man the last embarrassing photo he took of the older man the last time they trained together. If the world hasn’t seen the famous Iron Man scratching his nose-- excuse him picking his nose-- then he’s the one willing to bring this information to light.

“ _Delete that right now or all your gifts are going to me_.”

“Nope, sorry. Gtg,” he texts, his heart hammering and he hears a loud clanging of a crowbar nearby. This can mean anything, but his senses pull him towards a nearby street just outside the one he’s perched on.

Three goons, a crowbar to the side, a gunshot ringing in his ears, and a bruise forming across his right cheek later, he’s panting and webbing up the last thief against the dirty brick wall. “That was totally uncool! Next time you gotta wait for me to join the party early, think my invitation got lost in the mail?” he asks, sending three spiraling webs to each of the goons mouths to ignore their responses. He receives very angry grunts back. “Sorry! It’s Christmas Eve, I can’t have you other here.”

The police are already rounding a corner nearby, left with a signature Spider-Man scribble with his Spidey face and a scrawled _Jingle bells, these guys smell, spidey laid an egg_ across the page.

  
  


After a nearly disastrous run-in with the very angry police, he leaps towards the outskirts of Manhattan, arriving closer to Tony’s new penthouse, or condo? Or, whatever his rich person's city place is called.

He thwips across some trees, his feet running off the top of the bark, each thud gathering more velocity. 

“Woo!” he cheers, watching the blurry houses rush by, the yellow lights inside stark against the darkness of the night and soft Christmas decorations. “Spidey-bells, swinging through Midtown!”

“Oh, what fun it is to swing around New York,” he swings offkey, before he turns to run up a building and yelps once he realizes he’s slipping downwards from the wet-snow-turned-ice. “Oh, sling a web!’

“Thwipping through the sTREETS--” 

This isn’t his proudest moment. In fact, he’s sure he’s caused enough noise throughout the entire neighborhood to gather a crowd he can’t find the courage to look down on. It might be worse than the time he sat in red paint in art class a few months ago. He reminds himself there’s nothing to be ashamed of, he thought it would be fun.

“UYGh--” he feels himself wrap around an array of wires, plummeting downwards when the lights catch him. The Christmas lights. He’s cast in a net of Christmas lights, wondering if his shoulder socket should feel this way, and if he’s this flexible all the time with his leg directly above him, or it’s body adapting to the situation.

He freezes at the familiar flash of a camera coming from behind him, craning his neck to turn.

Okay, he definitely did gather a crowd, swinging through a neighborhood and becoming stuck in a web of lights. He can totally play this off, grimacing when he hears Tony’s ringtone in his pocket, a text from the man.

“Spidey, you were supposed to save the day!” a six-year old screeches.

He thinks he’s okay being thirty feet off the ground right now. ‘Tis the season to save hundreds.

  
  
  


He’s down the street from the familiar neighborhood of Tony’s, the snow falling down once again and the late-night dinners are being wrapped up inside of homes and laughter fills each home, conversations, rounds of applause. It took him about fifteen minutes to get here, thwippig at his fastest speeds and spewing quips, practicing for the weekend when all the goons are back. He thinks this is their Thursday off before committing crimes again.

The change in scenery baffles him, this side of Manhattan too fancy and to spread out to be home to such rich apartments, new beautiful buildings and the horrid smell of gentrification, but it is less grating than the neighborhoods by Times Square that’s far too loud--

He stops in his tracks, hearing an all-too-familiar sound of sniffling, followed suit by the sound of a muffled cry. It isn’t a little kid, but he strains to listen while crawling up the side of a building.

Across the street, past all the children warm and snuggled in their beds, is an unhappy young adult-possible teenager crying on their fire escape.He’s sure they’re far from hyperventilating, in the horrible stage after before their bodies release comforting hormones.

“Joy to the world, my fucking ass,” she cries into her sweater, making herself cry even harder. She goes back and forth between glancing back inside her home, full of immediate family and a happy family, opening presents and angrily gesturing towards the balcony where she’s curled up. He stifles his laugh at her complaint.

“Hey, you okay?” he slowly approaches her, landing in the fire escape adjacent to hers. Their curtains are closed, and she looks up frantically, searching for his voice. She jolts, sniffling immediately and finds him past the blue, red, orange, and green lights. “It’s me, spidey!”

“What-- Spider-Man?” she asks, confusion scribbled across the face. Her tan cheeks are red and wet from her tears, and he approaches her warily. He hops to the balcony next to hers, approaching the stairs and waits for her reaction. “Why are you here?”

“Well, I-- Uh, I’m going to visit a friend right now. Looks like you need a hug,” he says, crouching beside her and opts to lift his mask to show his mouth. He’s got to show some emotion, his eyes are reactive already but this feels more authentic. “Can I hug you?”

She nods her head, hesitantly looking back inside her apartment. He catches her hesitation, and knows he can’t be out here for long. He doesn’t miss the rude conversation inside, families and their constant miscommunication and need to blame one person. “Listen-- I know I can’t help much, but you deserve so much better.”

He envelopes her in a hug, her curly hair in his face and she smells of cookies, warmth, and like baby powder. There must be a baby inside. He’ll admit, May does give a lot of hugs, but he’s been missing out on Ben’s hugs without him here. He’s very tactile, and his friends are receptive of it, but he has to respect their limits as well. It’s nice, really, getting to hug a random person on Christmas Eve.

She sobs even harder hugging him, but her heart rate picks up when they hear her name- Amanda- being called inside. “I’m--” she begins, and he tells her to take deep breaths in. “I’ll be good. I’m fine.” Her voice breaks on a sob, but she shakes her head and displaces each tear. 

He doesn’t feel too out of depth, he _is_ an angsty teenager as well. He knows he’d appreciate a stranger checking up on him, and hopes he helps her in any way.

“Keep your chin up,” he tells her, sounding as gentle and kind as he can. He’s had practice with this voice, reserving it for special people on patrol. Lost kids, this type of situation, and anyone who’s scared of what’s to come. “I hope I’ll meet you again, so we can hug it out once more. Spidey needs hugs, too.”

He inches away, waving once more before volting off of the fire escape, freefalling and swinging away from the building. “Bye, Spidey.”

  
  


“Merry, Christmas, Tony!” Peter yells, watching the TV flicker in the living room while the geriatric man is slumped over on the couch, snoring with his mouth wide open. “Hey, Pepper!”

“ _Jesus,_ ” she pants, clutching her heart and moving the full curtain back to reveal him, hanging outside of their apartment. “We have a front door! You literally have a key!”

He waves, smiling widely through his mask, watching Pepper leave to open their living room window after yelling at Tony to wake up, his big child is here. With that, Tony jolts, yawning, and scratches his belly. The Christmas tree is twinkling, a snow-covered tree with elegant golden decorations that Pepper must have spent a fortune on. Perfectly wrapped gifts lie under the tree, a red bag with white fur lining sits at the foot of the tree.

He crawls to the window of Tony and Pepper’s bedroom, Tony holding his arms out in welcome and he _almost_ falls for it, laughing, _no_ , when his hug turns into a violent push to throw him out the window. “Hey! Do that again and you’ll get a lump of coal in your stocking tonight. Better yet, I’ll tell on you to Pepper _and_ May. And the big man in the North Pole himself.”

“You think I’m scared--” Tony pulls him in, hugging him closely but being cut off by Pepper in the background who delicately throws her silk night robe on. 

“Yes, Tony, you will be sacred of us,” she says mildly, peppering a kiss onto Peter’s kiss as a greeting. “Merry Christmas, Peter.”

Peter laughs, trying to wrestle out og Tony’s hug and runs into the familiar living room of theirs, being a little too freaked out standing in the middle of their bedroom. Morgan’s in the next room over, dozing, and he can’t wait to leave the little booger her present. “So, how was Spidey’s Christmas adventure? Can we turn it into a children’s book and exploit your pain?”

They gently shove him into the living room, he sheds his puffy jacket and winter hat with a pom pom after many embarrassing comments and a swing of his arm while Tony tries to take pictures of him. Pepper pushes him a plate of leftovers, understanding he had to be outside for the city and isn’t Christian, anyways.

“So, what’d you do, Pete? You delivered a baby, spent money on my credit card and gave out presents, what else?” he places his hand on his chin, in thinking mode. He thought _he_ was dramatic. “You decked the hall with criminals, too, I’m sure. Gotta cover all bases of Spidey-Claus’ night.”

“It was a beautiful night to save lives,” he replies, snickering at his quip. He’s been practicing on his pop culture references to piss the older man off. “All in a day’s work at the desk job, Tony.”

**Author's Note:**

> my [ twitter](https://twitter.com/gothsbat) and [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/spideysforce)
> 
> come talk to me in the comments and check out my other works if you'd like.
> 
> \- jay <3


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